


No One Said It Would Be Easy (But I Never Knew I'd Be So Lonely)

by kpkl10



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Geralt is emotionally constipated, M/M, but Jaskier is there to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22719433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kpkl10/pseuds/kpkl10
Summary: If Geralt is lonely, it's only because he was meant to be. But then Jaskier was there when Geralt needed him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 272





	No One Said It Would Be Easy (But I Never Knew I'd Be So Lonely)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is based off lyrics in the song Body by Wet.
> 
> Please enjoy!

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Geralt should’ve been here to stop this. But he hadn’t, and now a whole village was dead.

Geralt stood on the outskirts of the village, gazing at the scene before him. Roach anxiously trod at the ground with her hooves. In the golden fields of wheat and in the trodden dirt streets, motionless bodies lay. Some were burnt bright red and blistered as if they’d been out in the sun for too long, others were bloody. Geralt forced his feet forward, towards the nearest body. A long slice exposed the inside of the woman’s throat as she lay in a pool of her own blood. 

Geralt grimaced and moved on. He took his time wandering through the village, trying to find someone-- anyone-- who might be alive. But everything was still, the powerful scent of death making it harder and harder for Geralt to breathe. He had to shut his eyes for a moment as he saw the bloody form of a little girl curled into the side of what must’ve been her father. 

In the distance, a whirl of dust rose into the air above the top of the houses on the edge of village. Geralt saw it and understood what had happened here. 

Lady Midday. 

He’d seen it happen before, but never to this extent. An evil spirit, Lady Midday would come at the hottest part of the day, terrorizing anyone working in the fields. Some she killed with her scythe, others she burnt like a strong sun until they dropped, and others she drove mad. Whoever, or whatever, this spirit was, she was furious. 

Geralt watched as the dust settled, then set out in that direction. It may be too late to save this village, but maybe he could save the next one Lady Midday decided to terrorize. 

As Geralt passed out of the village, trying to avoid looking at all the bodies around him, he felt the sudden urge to scream. Who was he if massacres like this could happen when he’d only been a few hours away? If he’d gotten here just yesterday, he could’ve stopped this. 

_But you didn’t get here yesterday_ , a voice in his head said. _How could you have known about what hadn’t even happened yet?_

Geralt uttered a low ‘hmm’ to himself, peering into the woods at the edge of the field he stood in. Nothing moved or made a sound. With a sigh, Geralt set off into the woods, walking upwind with Roach until he couldn’t smell death in the air. He tied Roach to a nearby tree, then set to making a fire before sitting down heavily. He ate the last of the stale bread in his pack, staring into the orange flames in front of him. 

When Geralt settled down to rest, he found he couldn’t sleep, even though he had been travelling for the better part of the day and exhaustion had seeped into his bones. He tossed and turned, garnering a snort or two from Roach, who didn’t appreciate being woken up by all the noise he was making. Not for the first time, Geralt felt himself missing Jaskier. They’d parted ways a couple month ago, the bard wanting to take a break from travelling and earn some extra money playing to taverns. 

Any time Geralt set out on his own now, it always felt like something was missing-- Jaskier’s almost constant chatter, his soft singing as he tried to sort out the words to his next new song, fingers strumming his lute. Geralt was aching for that now, aching for Jaskier’s voice to fill the not-quite silence of the woods and to help him forget what he’d seen in the village below. 

Geralt let out a long sigh as he sat up, glaring into the dying embers of the fire. If Jaskier knew any of this, he’d lord it above Geralt’s head forever. His fingers dug into his knee. He shook his head and closed his eyes. He needed to clear his thoughts, otherwise he’d be awake all night. 

Eventually, Geralt laid down again. After tossing and turning for a couple hours, he finally dozed off. 

*****

The soft morning light filtering through the leaves overhead cast a dim, green glow on the woods as Geralt trekked back to the village. Roach was hesitant to go back, fighting Geralt as they drew closer. Geralt stopped to get off and tie her up, not wanting to stress her out any more. She gave him a grateful bump with her head before he walked the rest of the way there.

The day was already starting to warm up, carrying the sickly sweet smell of decay with it. Geralt fought the urge to turn back and get out of here. But he had to do this. He had to make it up to these people, somehow. 

Geralt cast his eyes about the wheat fields in front of him, as still as they had been yesterday, then choose one. He sat down amongst the tall stalks. He waited patiently as the day waned, growing hotter. He’d had to resort to breathing through his mouth to escape some of the smell around him. As the sun reached its peak in the sky, he felt the air around him shift. 

Dust picked up at the edge of the field as if being flung upwards. Geralt stood up, spotting a young woman in a white dress a few yards away from him. Slowly, Geralt approached her, his hand on his sword. 

“Hello,” the woman said in a melodious voice. In her hand, she carried a sickle, as if ready to harvest the wheat around her. 

Geralt nodded in acknowledgment. The woman’s answering smile didn’t reach her eyes. He tightened his grip on his sword. 

“It’s so hot out here,” she continued. “You should take a break. Why not sit down and talk with me?” 

“I’d prefer to stand,” Geralt replied gruffly, ignoring how the sun suddenly felt much hotter than it had a few seconds before. 

The woman tilted the sickle in her hand as she gazed down at it, like she was admiring the way the sun played off the blade. “Who makes it, has no need of it. Who buys it, has no use for it. Who uses it can neither see nor feel it. What is it?” 

Geralt kept quiet, watching her warily. He knew if he answered incorrectly or tried to change the subject, she’d attack. Subtly, he started drawing his sword as the woman continued to stare at her sickle. 

“Well?” she asked after a minute of silence. She looked up at Geralt, her bright eyes going straight to his sword, which was halfway out. She tilted her head. “What are doing?” 

Geralt cursed softly, then drew his sword out completely. The woman’s eyes flashed with anger, sensing Geralt’s motive. She was fast, closing the gap between them in a moment. He barely got his sword up in time to prevent her sickle from slicing his throat open. He pushed the sickle out of the way, then swiped at her chest. 

The woman stepped back and Geralt’s sword only hit air. Her face and body changed, leaving an old, bent woman in front of him. Even so, she was still just as fast, lunging back towards Geralt. Geralt side-stepped her attack. He turned before she could, stabbing out at her back. He hit the mark, blade sinking into flesh that wasn’t real. 

The woman shrieked, but stayed standing. She reeled on Geralt, her attacks becoming more erratic. Sweat dripped into Geralt’s eyes as he spun around the woman, her sickle coming a hair’s breadth from his skin more than once. He threw out the Sign of Aard, pushing the woman back from him. 

The second the woman stumbled back and stopped swinging, Geralt lashed out at her. His sword sunk deep into her shoulder, right below her neck. He pulled it out quickly and took a few steps backwards in case she decided to attack again. But the woman just screamed until the screams became gurgles and she collapsed to the ground. Black blood seeped out of her wound, staining her white dress. 

Geralt let out a shuddering breath, watching the woman’s body until he was sure she was dead-- or as dead as a spirit could be. He kept his sword out and ready as he pulled her body out of the field. He piled any sticks he could find on top of her, then lit a fire. He stepped back and watched her go up in flames. Briefly, the dust around him kicked up into the air, then settled back down just as fast. 

When Geralt was sure that Lady Midday was truly gone, only ash to be swept away by the wind, he resheathed his sword. He picked his way back to Roach, feeling more exhausted than ever. He was covered in sweat, blood, and dust. All he wanted was to get away from this village, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape what he’d seen here. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what had happened here either without fault falling on his shoulders. 

Geralt stopped long enough to wash off his hands and face in a nearby stream. Then he wandered back to where he’d left Roach, untying her. He got on her, leading her through the woods for a few miles before nudging her closer to where the main road would be. He only got in a few hours of riding before night fell. Again, he sat in front of a fire, unable to sleep. When he did drift off for a couple hours, his dreams were unpleasant and full of death. 

When Geralt arrived in the city of Novigrad close to nightfall the next day, he was almost falling off of Roach in his fatigue. The citizens parted for him on the streets, some staring and others obviously avoiding his eye. He found the nearest inn, got someone to put Roach in a stable, and went inside. It was already busy, workers eating and drinking after a busy day. 

Geralt made his way to the bar and ordered a drink, ignoring the looks he got. He’d barely sat down when someone grabbed his shoulder. Geralt tensed, readying himself for whatever drunkard had decided to pick a fight with him. 

“You look like shit,” a familiar voice said. 

Geralt’s shoulders lost their tension as he turned to Jaskier. At the very least, the bard looked like their two months apart had done him well. He was wearing a new outfit and he had gained back some of the weight he’d lost while traveling with Geralt. 

“Hm,” Geralt uttered. 

Jaskier patted him on the back. “Nice to see you, too. I’m doing well, thanks for asking” He sat down next to Geralt, cradling his lute in his lap. “You, uh, doing alright there, my friend?” 

Geralt downed half the ale the barkeep had put in front of him before speaking. “I’ve been better.” 

Jaskier shifted a bit on his stool. “Do you have a room yet? You can share mine, if you’d like. Got it for free as long as I entertain the crowd for the night.” 

Geralt, who hadn’t even begun to think about how little money he had right now, nodded. “Thanks, Jaskier.” 

“It’s on the second floor. Third door on the left. You should take a bath while you’re here.” 

Geralt glanced at Jaskier. If the bard knew how relieved Geralt was to see him, he’d never hear the end of it. So he just nodded again, drank the rest of his ale, and headed to Jaskier’s-- and now his-- room after asking for hot water to be brought up. 

The room was small but Geralt wasn’t about to complain when he was going to be able to sleep on an actual bed after being on the road for so long. The tub was already filled with water, so Geralt stripped off his dirty clothes, grimacing at how stiff the fabric had become with his sweat. He got into the tub and sank into the hot water, feeling as human as a witcher could. 

Geralt scrubbed all the dirt off his skin and hair. When he was done, he climbed out of the tub to dry off. He rooted around in his pack for clean clothes, couldn’t find any, and instead pulled on his least dirty shirt and pants. Then he climbed into bed and closed his eyes. And couldn’t get to sleep. 

Geralt growled and threw a pillow on the floor. He sat up in bed and glared at the wall opposite him. He’d had about a total of five hours of sleep these past two days, and it was really starting to grate on him. Yet every time he laid down to sleep, he couldn’t stop the thoughts that raced through his head. About the village. How he’d failed everyone there. 

The door to the room opened quietly and Jaskier slipped in, rosy cheeked and blue eyes bright after clearly having a good show. When he saw that Geralt was awake, he dropped the quiet act. 

“Hope you didn’t stay up just for me,” Jaskier joked as he put his lute away. He frowned when Geralt didn’t respond. “Geralt--” 

Geralt stood up. “Maybe I’ll go for a walk.” He started towards the door, but Jaskier grabbed his arm, stopping him. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said again, firmer this time. “Sit down.” He steered Geralt to the chest at the end of the bed. 

Geralt looked at him for a long second, then sat down. 

“What happened?” Jaskier asked gently, still standing. He had a worried light to his eyes. 

When Geralt didn’t respond, Jaskier sighed. He stepped close to Geralt and picked up a chunk of his hair. He ran his fingers through it, breaking up the knots that had formed in it. 

“Do you ever brush your hair?” Jaskier said. “Or do you just forget that you even have it?” 

Geralt grunted. He tried to pull away from Jaskier’s hands, but the bard wouldn’t let him. So Geralt sat there as Jaskier brushed his hair out with his fingers. He was gentle, never pulling too hard at the tangles. The rhythmic feel of Jaskier’s fingers running through his hair and the warmth of his body soon lulled him into a daze. 

“I didn’t save them,” Geralt heard himself say. 

Jaskier’s fingers stilled in Geralt’s hair. It broke the daze Geralt was in. He glanced up at Jaskier’s face, but there wasn’t any judgment or pity there, only a curious look. But he didn’t know the story yet. He’d think Geralt terrible for not helping the village sooner. 

Without thinking, Geralt laid his forehead against Jaskier’s stomach. He smelled like the smoke of the bar and sweat and alcohol, but underneath it all was the smell of rosemary. Jaskier’s scent. 

Jaskier laid his hand on Geralt’s cheek. Geralt could feel each breath he took, the way the fabric of his shirt shifted with each movement. 

“Tell me,” Jaskier said softly. 

So Geralt did. 

Jaskier never pushed Geralt away or condemned him for what befell the village. He just listened, running his thumb along Geralt’s cheek as he spoke. When Geralt was done talking, he took a shuddering breath. Jaskier was wiping at Geralt’s cheek now, and it took him a moment to realize that he was wiping away tears. 

Geralt sat back. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. He really must’ve been sleep deprived. 

“You should rest,” Jaskier was saying. When Geralt looked up at him, there was an expression of sorrow on his face. 

“Do you think I’m a horrible person?” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “No. Why would I think that?” He knelt down in front of Geralt. “Why are you taking on the burden of this village? What happened was tragic, yes, but you had no way of knowing it would happen. And you stopped that spirit from harming others in the future. So stop beating yourself up about it and go to bed.” 

Geralt started a little at the heat in Jaskier’s words. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jaskier hushed him before he could. Conceding to Jaskier’s command, Geralt climbed back into bed. His whole body felt leaden, and he feared that he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all tonight. 

The bed dipped behind him as Jaskier settled in. Geralt closed his eyes, trying to block out the sounds from downstairs, where people were still drinking and talking. It didn’t take long for Jaskier’s breathing to deepen, though. Geralt turned onto his other side, facing Jaskier. He studied Jaskier’s face, the way his eyelashes delicately curved and how his lips were slightly parted as he slept. Something tugged at his chest. 

Geralt ignored the feeling, closing his eyes again and focusing on the sound of Jaskier’s breathing. Slowly, the stress pent up in his body released and he slept. 

*****

Geralt didn’t wake up until after noon the next day. Groggily, he pulled himself out of bed, squinting against the light streaming through the open shutters of the window. Jaskier was nowhere to be found.

Geralt took a moment to tie his hair back out of his face, then wandered out of the room and downstairs. He found Jaskier sitting at a table by himself, eating. Geralt was suddenly hit of the mortifying memory of spilling his guts and crying in front of Jaskier. He really had been sleep deprived to have done that. 

Jaskier spotted him standing awkwardly in the doorway and waved him over. Geralt pushed down his mortification and went over to the table. As he sat down, Jaskier called for more food. Geralt settled back as a bowl of stew was placed in front of him. 

“So,” Geralt said, then cleared his throat. He found it hard to look Jaskier in the eye; he decided to focus on his stew instead. 

“How are you feeling?” Jaskier asked, no hint of teasing in his voice. 

“Better,” Geralt replied. 

Silence settled over them for a minute before Jaskier said, “I’m coming with you. When you leave here.” 

Geralt finally looked at Jaskier. “I was going to leave today—” 

Jaskier made an apprehensive sound. 

“— but seeing as I slept in, I’ll leave tomorrow. There are reports of what sounds like alp attacks east of here.” 

“Aren’t those the weird… things with the hats?” 

“If you want to be vague, yes.” Geralt relaxed a little, seeing as it seemed like Jaskier wasn’t going to mention anything about last night. He finished the rest of his stew and pushed back from the table. “I’m going out to get some supplies.” 

Jaskier nodded, not making a move to follow him. “I’ll be here. Waiting for people to play to. They’re kind of stingy with their money here, though. You’d think, being more sophisticated folk-- You don’t really care, do you?” 

Geralt offered him a half-smile. He said a farewell and headed out the door. Outside, the air was warm, though every now and again a cool breeze from the coast blew through the streets. Geralt didn’t give much heed to it, though, as he wandered from shop to shop, picking up what he needed. His thoughts kept wandering back to Jaskier. 

They’d only been apart a couple of months, but the sheer relief of having Jaskier around again was hard to ignore. Geralt felt silly when he thought about it. Witchers were supposed to have control over their emotions so that they didn’t get too attached to people or get overwhelmed by isolation. Or by a whole village being decimated. 

Geralt grimaced, causing a child heading his way to run to the other side of the street. Jaskier hadn’t blamed him for what had happened, but Geralt wasn’t sure how to make himself feel the same way about it. It was stupid, he told himself, to believe there was anything else he could’ve done. If only he could believe those words himself. 

By the time Geralt returned to the inn, it was dark. He slipped in with a group of workmen, intending to go to his shared room. He stopped just inside the doorway, though, as he heard Jaskier singing. Someone bumped into his back and he quickly stepped to the side, finding an empty table to sit at. 

Up on the small stage in the corner of the inn, Jaskier’s low, melancholic voice carried over the talking and movement in the room. The fingers on his lute barely moved. The notes that they did make were soft, as if afraid of overshadowing his voice. 

“ _Why do you wait_ ,” Jaskier sang, eyes unfocused, “ _ready to sate her hunger? She does but await, ready to drop this heavy weight and tear your heart asunder_.” 

Geralt barely breathed as he listened. He’d heard Jaskier sing many times before, but for some reason this song felt different. Like Jaskier was singing to Geralt, unlike all the times he’d sung about him. He sat there, rapt, wondering when it was that everything to do with Jaskier had suddenly seemed to shift. 

As the song finished and Jaskier’s voice faded, Geralt finally moved, breaking out of his reverie. Jaskier’s eyes found Geralt on the other side of the room, and the smile he gave was woeful. A chord struck within him, Geralt froze again. In the back of his mind, he identified what he was feeling. Then he immediately threw that thought away. 

Jaskier turned away from him, starting up a new song. It was more upbeat, and people in the tavern started singing along to it. Geralt forced himself to get up. He avoided looking in Jaskier’s direction as he headed for the stairs. Even when he was inside their room, he could hear Jaskier’s voice downstairs. 

Geralt sat down on the bed, not even trying to go to sleep. He busied himself with putting his supplies up and cleaning his equipment. By the time he was done (admittedly, he went through each action twice), he heard familiar footsteps outside the door. Then Jaskier was coming into the room, looking just as pleased with himself as he had last night. 

Geralt subtly shook his head, not wanting to think about that. He watched from the corner of his eye as Jaskier put his lute up, then shrugged his coat off, leaving his chemise on. 

“I met a couple of fine ladies downstairs,” Jaskier was saying. “If you’re up for it--” 

“I’m not,” Geralt interrupted, a little harshly. His next words felt stilted. “You go have fun, if you want to. But I’m okay as is.” 

Jaskier uttered a ‘humph’ and climbed onto the bed. He grabbed Geralt’s shoulders and squeezed. “Would it be so bad to relax and have a little fun before we leave?” 

Geralt did his best to keep his thoughts organized as Jaskier warm hands kneaded the knots in his upper back. “I’d rather sleep.” 

“Really?” Jaskier’s hands climbed back up to Geralt’s shoulders. “We have women wanting to fuck us, and--” 

Geralt inhaled sharply as Jaskier’s fingers settled on his neck, their touch feather-light. Without thinking, he grabbed one of Jaskier’s wrists and turned around, pushing Jaskier’s body down onto the bed. Geralt found himself on top of Jaskier, who was staring up at him with startled eyes. The sour scent of fear hit Geralt’s nose and he felt sick to his stomach at being the cause of it. 

Quickly, Geralt released Jaskier’s wrist and stood up from the bed. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.” 

Jaskier sat back up, the smell of fear disappearing. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.” He was rubbing at his wrist absentmindedly. 

“Did I hurt you?” The words were bitter in Geralt’s mouth. 

Jaskier shook his head. “I’m fine.” 

Geralt’s chest was tight. It felt like everything he’d done lately was all a fuck up. And now he was dragging Jaskier into it without meaning to. 

Jaskier must’ve seen the discomfort on Geralt’s face. He scooted back to his side of the bed and pulled off his boots, dropping them on the floor. “Let’s just go to bed.” 

Geralt nodded stiffly. He climbed under the blanket as Jaskier extinguished the room’s lantern. Geralt stared at the ceiling, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. For an hour, he listened for Jaskier’s breathing to even out but it didn’t happen. Geralt angled his head toward Jaskier, only to find the bard looking back at him. 

Geralt’s breathing hitched. He knew Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see as much in the dark as Geralt could, but he still tried to keep his expression neutral. He waited for Jaskier to say something, but after a moment he turned onto his side, his back to Geralt. 

Geralt let out a quiet sigh and went back to staring at the ceiling. A while later, Jaskier slipped into sleep, his breathing deepening. Geralt closed his eyes, listening to the sound. It took some time but eventually Geralt slept, though fitfully. 

When morning broke, Geralt got up before Jaskier. He checked his pack once more, then headed downstairs for breakfast. He was just about to eat when Jaskier joined him, sitting down at the table quietly. It unnerved Geralt how silent the bard was, even more so because he was the reason for it. 

“I’m setting out in an hour,” Geralt said. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.” 

Jaskier shifted in his chair as he tore off a piece of bread. “No, I’m coming.” 

Geralt, who’d expected Jaskier to take the out he’d been given, was only able to say, “Okay.” 

Jaskier suddenly smiled at him. “You won’t be able to get rid of me that easily, you know.” 

Startled by Jaskier’s change in demeanor, Geralt faltered on his words. By the time he’d collected himself, Jaskier was standing up, telling Geralt that he was going to get his things together. Geralt nodded and watched Jaskier leave. He took his time finishing the rest of his breakfast, then went back to their room as well. 

By the time they’d dragged their stuff outside and saddled their horses (Jaskier had bought one for himself a few weeks ago, he said), it was late morning. They set off at a brisk pace, Geralt wanting to make up for yesterday’s lost time. Jaskier barely complained, spending half the time playing his lute and singing small snippets of songs he’d been working on. 

They travelled until close to nightfall, stopping every now and again to rest. Geralt estimated that it’d take them another half day to get where the alp attacks were happening. As Jaskier tended to the fire, Geralt went hunting, catching a rabbit that they could throw in a stew. While he was walking back to their campsite, his eye caught on a familiar plant. He could just make out the light purple flowers on it as he plucked some stems to bring with him. 

The fire was burning brightly as Geralt returned. Jaskier was on the other side of it, writing in his notebook. Geralt hesitated before taking one of the stems he’d collected and dropping it into Jaskier’s lap. Jaskier stopped writing and picked it up. He shot Geralt a curious look. 

Geralt realized how stupid of a gesture it was as the words escaped his lips. ‘It’s… your flower. Your scent. Rosemary.” 

Jaskier turned the herb over in his hand, then smelled it. “This is what I smell like to you?” 

Geralt nodded jerkily. He held the rest of the stems up for Jaskier to see. “Good for stew.” 

An amused smile flashed across Jaskier’s face. “Glad to know that I’ll taste good in stew if I ever find myself in that situation.” 

“That’s not-- not what I meant,” Geralt replied. He dropped his hand. “I’m going to make dinner now.” 

“You have fun with that,” Jaskier said, still smiling. 

Geralt ignored how silly he felt and got to skinning the rabbit. When he was done prepping it, he threw it into a pot he’d brought along, putting in the rosemary and some vegetables. When he glanced up, he caught Jaskier looking at him, studying him. Geralt held his gaze for a moment, then went back to stirring the stew. His whole body was tense with the knowledge that Jaskier might be watching his every movement. 

“Tell me,” Jaskier said, tapping his pencil against his notebook, “if you heard a song with the phrase ‘titty licker’ in it, would you think it’s more of an insult or a sexual innuendo?” 

Geralt, who’d been pouring the stew into wooden bowls, paused. “If I heard that, I’d stop listening to the song.” 

“Ah, but you’re not a farmer. If a farmer heard it--” 

Geralt held up a hand to silence Jaskier, but he kept talking anyway. Geralt growled instead, silencing the bard. Geralt cocked his head to the side, listening intently. He could’ve sworn he’d heard something out in the trees to his left. 

“What?” Jaskier whispered. “What is it?” 

Eventually, Geralt shook his head. “Nothing. Just an animal, probably.” 

Jaskier took the bowl offered to him and scooched closer to Geralt. Geralt tried to ignore the body heat radiating off Jaskier, who was less than a foot away from him now. As they were finishing up their stew, Jaskier spoke. 

“So, uh, have you seen Yennefer lately?” 

A simple question, but it fell like a leaden weight in Geralt stomach. “No.” He hadn’t spoken to her for a few months now, not since her latest political scheme. He hadn’t missed her as much as he’d thought he would, for one very big reason. 

Jaskier was looking at him, the bowl still cradled in his hands. “Why not? I thought you two were all, you know, lovey dovey.” He grimaced as he said the words. 

“I wouldn’t use ‘lovey dovey’ to describe it.” Geralt watched as a log in the fire split, sending sparks up into the air. “But we still meet every now and again.” 

“Oh.” Jaskier shifted, resting his arms on his knees. “So, when will you see her next?” 

“Why the sudden interest in my love life?” 

Jaskier shrugged. “I’m just curious. No other reason.” 

Geralt grunted in response, not believing him. He glanced at Jaskier, wondering what the bard was trying to get at. He’d opened his mouth to say something when a badger wearing a conical hat wandered into their campsite. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked quietly. “Is that…?” 

“Yes, it is,” Geralt replied. He stared at the badger, who stared back with large eyes. 

Slowly, the badger turned around and started to waddle back the way it came. 

“Hey,” Geralt called out, causing the thing to stop in its tracks. “Come back here.” 

The badger seemed to think about it for a moment, then obliged. Geralt stood up, one hand on his silver sword. Jaskier stood up, too, using Geralt as a human shield between him and the badger. 

“You’re the alp that’s been attacking people?” Geralt asked the thing. 

The badger considered him, paws scraping the dirt. Then, without warning, it leaped at Geralt. Geralt stumbled back in surprise, bumping into Jaskier. The badger grabbed onto his armor and lunged for his throat. Geralt managed to grab it and fling it away before its teeth sunk into his flesh. 

“What the fuck is up with that thing?” Jaskier asked, bewildered. 

Something small flitted past the witcher and hit Jaskier in the chest. Jaskier slapped at his chest and yelped. “It bit me on the nipple!” 

Geralt rushed forward, grabbing the bird that the alp had transformed into. He meant to crush it quickly, but he had no time to react as it transformed again. Geralt’s hand was forced open as a bear landed on top of him. He fell onto his back, the bear’s jaws snapping inches from his face. 

Geralt lifted his arm up, trying to shield himself. He felt sharp teeth sink into his arm, but ignored the pain as he groped for the handle of his sword with his other hand. He found it but couldn’t pull it out of its sheath with all the weight on top of him. He attempted to roll the bear off him, but to no avail. 

Geralt’s mind raced as he tried to come up with a plan, but that was hard to do when you could barely breathe. But then the bear suddenly let go of Geralt’s arm with a roar and staggered to the side. Geralt got up quickly, drawing his sword. Without hesitation, he plunged it into the bear’s neck, then wrenched it free. 

Hot blood spurted from the wound, hitting Geralt. The bear tried to roar, but only a wheezing sound came out. It transformed once more as it made to attack Geralt, becoming a gray imp-looking creature. Geralt swatted it aside with the flat of his blade. The alp rolled and came to a stop by the fire. It took two more shuddering breaths, then went still. 

“Holy shit,” Jaskier said softly. 

Geralt turned to face him. The bard was holding a bloody dagger in his hand— one of Geralt’s silver ones that he’d left in his pack. He must’ve grabbed it and stabbed the bear with it. Geralt felt both pride and terror at Jaskier having done that. 

Jaskier saw Geralt looking at the dagger and handed it back. Geralt gently took it from him, placing it and his sword on the ground. 

“Are you okay?” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier nodded, looking shaken. “Yeah. Just, you know, almost got my nipple torn off by a bird.” He glanced down the front of his shirt. “It’s still intact, so I’ll be fine.” 

Geralt nodded, feeling relieved that Jaskier was okay. 

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier said, suddenly, alarming Geralt. “Your arm.” He reached forward and gingerly grabbed Geralt’s wrist. He inspected it in the firelight, wincing. 

Geralt looked at it, too. The bear had torn through his leather armor and left deep gouges in his skin. They were bleeding freely, making it hard to know just how bad it was. But it hurt. Quite a bit, actually. 

“You need to sit down,” Jaskier was saying, pushing him to the ground. 

Geralt complied, sitting on the opposite side of the fire from the alp. “In my pack, there are some vials and some bandages,” he told Jaskier. 

Jaskier moved the pack closer and rummaged through it. He brought out some bandages, then a piece of cloth wrapped around some vials. Geralt took it from him until he found the one he was looking for. He ripped the armor around his arm off, then poured the vial’s contents over the wound. 

Jaskier hissed louder than Geralt as the potion worked to staunch the bleeding. When it had had time to work, Geralt started to bandage the wound, but Jaskier soon took over. Geralt watched the bard’s face as he carefully wrapped and tied off the bandage. 

Jaskier looked up when he was done, their gazes meeting. His blue eyes flickered with shadows thrown by the fire. Geralt could smell the adrenaline that had fueled Jaskier a minute ago running out now. 

Jaskier reached up and ran a thumb across Geralt’s cheek, wiping off the blood that had landed there. Geralt gently took hold of Jaskier’s hand, pulling it to his chest. This time, no fear ran through Jaskier at Geralt’s actions. He spread his fingers out, pressing his palm against Geralt’s breast. 

Jaskier frowned, staring at Geralt’s chest. “Your heartbeat, is it always this slow?” 

Geralt nodded. “Just another perk of being a witcher,” he said with a twisted smile. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to say something but got distracted as another log in the fire popped. Geralt released Jaskier’s hand and stood up. He reprimanded himself for letting Jaskier that close, for letting himself be vulnerable. He stalked over to the alp, picking his sword back up on the way. He cut the head of the monster off, then took his time putting it in a burlap sack. 

When he turned back, Jaskier had wrapped a fur around himself as he sat by the fire. He was shivering slightly despite the warmth. Geralt, unable to offer much else, draped his own fur around Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier muttered a small thanks before Geralt excused himself to go wash up in a nearby stream. 

Jaskier was already lying down when he got back, buried under both blankets. Geralt, unwilling to take his fur back, settled down without one. When he slept, he didn’t dream. 

*****

It turned out that Jaskier hadn’t slept at all last night. Geralt saw it in the dark circles under Jaskier’s eyes the next morning, and the way he kept stifling yawns. It hadn’t seemed a huge problem until they set out on their horses. An hour into the ride, Jaskier almost fell off his horse when he’d started to doze off. 

Geralt stopped Roach, and Jaskier stopped his own horse a few steps later. He turned to Geralt with a questioning look. 

Geralt sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He guided Roach up next to Jaskier. “Get on Roach. I’ll tie your horse to mine to lead it.” 

Jaskier shook his head, uncomprehending for a moment. “Why?” 

“Because you’re going to fall off your horse any second now. I’d at least like to have a chance of catching you if you do.” 

Jaskier regarded him for a moment before conceding. He slid off the side of his horse and let Geralt tie a piece of rope between the horses. The he helped Jaskier into Roach’s saddle, sitting right behind him. Geralt tried not to tense up as Jaskier’s hands gripped his sides. 

Geralt set the horses back into motion. “So was it the alp that kept you up?” 

“Maybe,” Jaskier replied. Then a second later he said, “I kept wondering if another one was going to come and bite my nipples off. They’re one of my best features, you know.” 

“I’m… no.” 

“But also I was worried about you,” Jaskier continued in a quieter voice. “When that alp became a bear, I didn’t know what to do to help.” 

“You did help,” Geralt reminded him. “If it weren’t for you, the alp could’ve done a lot more damage. I guess I didn’t ever properly thank you for that. So, thank you.” 

Jaskier’s arms wrapped around Geralt’s body, and he laid his cheek against Geralt’s back. “When I write a song about it, I’m going to make sure everyone knows how amazing I was.” 

Geralt snorted softly. “I won’t stop you.” 

“Good.” Jaskier went silent, and Geralt waited for him to start talking again. Only when he heard Jaskier’s deep breathing did he realize that the bard had fallen asleep. 

Gently, Geralt grasped one of Jaskier’s hands in his own, telling himself it was only in case the bard decided to take a leaping dive off Roach in his sleep. Jaskier barely stirred. Geralt stared out at the road before them, wondering where he’d go after turning the alp head in for money. 

Would Jaskier go with him, even if the destination was unknown? Geralt felt the familiar tug at his chest, thinking about being apart from Jaskier once again. They always found their way back together, but each time they went their separate ways it got harder and harder for Geralt to be on his own. 

He found himself wishing he could be a normal human. Then he could settle down somewhere, ask Jaskier to stay with him. But fate, or whatever it was that decided what happened in this world, was cruel. 

So Geralt would keep his thoughts to himself, never let Jaskier know how much he wanted him around. How he yearned for Jaskier to hold him and never let go. Because Jaskier deserved someone who didn’t go around fighting monsters, who was almost a monster himself. 

*****

After Geralt returned to Novigrad to collect his money, he and Jaskier stayed cooped up in an inn for a couple days while Geralt’s arm started to heal. Geralt kept expecting Jaskier to go out drinking and finding new lovers, but he barely moved from his spot on the windowsill. He spent most of the time writing and playing songs while Geralt read. 

At one point, when Jaskier had paused to write some notes down, Geralt said, “You don’t have to stay here with me. I’ll be fine by myself for a few hours, if you wanted to go out.” 

Jaskier had looked up at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’m fine. I’d rather stay in.” 

Geralt hadn’t pushed the issue, secretly glad to have the company. He’d gone back to reading, and Jaskier started softly singing. It had only made Geralt more sorrowful that he couldn’t have this all the time. 

On the second night there, Jaskier ran to grab them food and drinks. He’d left his notebook on the windowsill, the moonlight illuminating its scuffed cover. Something was sticking out from between its pages, threatening to fall out. Geralt went to push it back in, then paused. He recognized the rosemary stem that he’d given to Jaskier, now beginning to dry out. 

Geralt gently picked the notebook up and opened it to where the rosemary was acting as a bookmark. He slid it back into place, but didn’t put the notebook back down. He could see a sketch on one of the pages, flowing lines coming together to create a picture of Geralt’s own face. He traced a finger over the edge of the sketch in wonder. The eyes of the drawing didn’t hold the usual anger that he was told he wore at all times. Instead, they just looked sad. 

Geralt looked at the opposite page, eyes scanning the short poem jotted down in the corner. 

_O’er the land, a white wolf stalks_

_Head to the ground, heart in a grave_

_Alone again, a bird calls out and mocks_

_That his isolation is only meant to deprave_

The door to the room opened as Jaskier came back with bowls cradled in one arm and tankards grasped in his free hand. When he saw Geralt holding his notebook, his face paled. 

“Why are you…?” Jaskier asked. 

Geralt shut the notebook, placing it back on the sill. “Sorry. I saw something about to fall out and I wanted to put it back.” He moved to take the bowls from Jaskier, afraid he might drop them. 

Jaskier let him take the food, then set the tankards down on the room’s table. His lips were drawn into a tight line. “Did you read anything?” 

Geralt started to shake his head, then amended himself. “There was a poem on one of the pages. And a drawing. But that was all I looked at.” He had expected to smell the bitter bite of anger coming from Jaskier, but he only smelled fear. Or panic? The scents were so similar. “I wasn’t going to look at anything else.” 

Jaskier shut his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “I know. I just… I shouldn’t have left my notebook there, I guess.” He picked the notebook up and stuffed it back into his pack with shaky hands. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt trailed off, wondering what the right thing to say was. His gut twisted at the knowledge that Jaskier once again was feeling fear because of him. He just couldn’t seem to stop fucking things up. 

Jaskier was fiddling with his pack still, his back to Geralt. “Which one was it?” 

“What?” 

“Which drawing? Which poem?” 

“The drawing was of me. And the poem… it was also about me, wasn’t it? How I’m so lonely all the time?” The words tasted bitter in Geralt’s mouth because he knew there was truth to it. 

Jaskier’s breath caught briefly. He turned back to Geralt. “I-- You were never meant to read it. Or hear it, or anything.” He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down heavily. 

Geralt sat down next to Jaskier. “Then why write it?” 

Jaskier was silent for a long time, staring down at his hands. Then he spoke, his voice trembling slightly. “Do you even realize that I’ve been here for you all along? Even when Yennefer was running away from you to seduce the next king or noble or whatever, I’ve been running after you. Does she even know how deeply you care about people? How you carry every death you encounter as a burden?” 

Geralt was still, barely breathing. Jaskier eventually looked up at him when he’d been quiet for a little too long. The tentative expression he wore only pierced Geralt’s heart deeper. 

“Every time you come back from being with Yennefer, you look like you’ve lost a little bit more of yourself,” Jaskier said, despite Geralt’s lack of response. “And I hate it. You deserve someone who doesn’t leave you… emptier.” 

“Someone like you?” Geralt finally said, gently. He braced himself for Jaskier’s reaction, prepared for him to brush the question off. And even if he didn’t, would good could come of any answer he gave? 

Jaskier regarded him for a long time, his fingers twisting together in his lap. “That’s up to you, isn’t it?” 

Geralt tried to smile, but knew it had probably come off as more of a grimace. “It doesn’t really matter what I want. I’m not someone who was meant to find love. And you can do better than a man who hunts monsters for a living.” 

“You know, I’ve met a lot of people but none of them were like you. None of them even came close. So don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” 

The ferocity in Jaskier’s voice caused Geralt to start. He knew if he wanted to, he could tell Jaskier exactly how he felt. They could give this a try. But what happened when Jaskier decided Geralt wasn’t worth the effort anymore? Would he be all alone again, with no one to turn to for comfort and companionship? 

Jaskier seemed to read the struggle in his eyes. “Geralt, we’ve known each other for years. We’ve seen the best and worst of each other more times than I can count. And I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what you think.” 

Geralt knew he had a point, but it was still difficult to reconcile that with all the other thoughts he had. “I… I want to… Gods, I don’t know. Do you know that I only ever sleep well when you’re right there next to me? It’s almost pathetic how much I rely on you to keep me together.” Geralt was tired. Tired of yearning for things that he kept denying himself. Maybe, for once, he could have the one thing he wanted most. It might hurt, leave him broken one day, but how would he ever know if he didn’t let himself try? 

Finally, Geralt nodded, almost imperceptibly. Tension seemed to leak out of Jaskier. He placed a hand on Geralt’s cheek, his thumb running across his skin. Geralt leaned into the touch, feeling like everything was still fragile between them. Until Jaskier leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Geralt’s lips. 

When Geralt made no objections to the kiss, Jaskier moved to straddle his legs, his body slotting against Geralt’s so easily. Jaskier’s hands were in his hair, his fingertips grazing Geralt’s scalp. And his lips were everywhere, placing kisses so light it felt like the tips of a butterfly’s wings gracing his skin. Geralt couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him this tenderly. It was almost painful. 

Geralt’s hands gripped Jaskier’s hips like they were a lifeline. He caught Jaskier’s lips with his, if only to stop being overwhelmed by all the sensations. Jaskier didn’t seem to mind, deepening their kiss. Geralt flicked his tongue over Jaskier’s lips, and Jaskier obliged by opening his mouth. Everything was slow and sweet and warm. 

They only pulled apart when Jaskier had to stop to breathe, his face flushed. “Bed,” he muttered. 

Geralt slid his arms around Jaskier’s back and picked him up, carrying him to the bed. He placed Jaskier down gently. The bard pulled Geralt on top of him. Jaskier’s rosemary scent was mixed with the deeper, heady scent of arousal, and Geralt could taste it on his tongue as he kissed his way down Jaskier’s throat. Just that alone would be enough to drive him crazy, though the noises Jaskier was making were a close second. 

Geralt lost track of whose hands were whose as they fumbled at clothing, untying strings and unfastening buttons. But then the clothes were gone and nothing remained concealed between the two of them. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s arousal pressing against his hip, only making Geralt harder. He bit back a growl as Jaskier slithered out from underneath him to run to his pack. He returned quickly, though, a bottle of oil in hand. 

Geralt took it, fumbling with the cork as Jaskier pressed against his back, littering kisses across his shoulder. Geralt finally managed to open the bottle, oil spilling out across his hand. Jaskier grabbed his hand, guiding it back to the bard’s cock. A shiver of hot pleasure shot down Geralt’s back at the feel of Jaskier in his hand, of Jaskier taking control. 

Jaskier teeth nipped at the skin of his shoulder, a soft sigh escaping his lips and brushing across Geralt’s back. Jaskier gently pushed Geralt to the bed, turning him onto his back. Jaskier positioned himself between Geralt’s legs, eyes dark with wanting. Geralt moaned as he felt Jaskier’s length pressing against his entrance, pushing in excruciatingly slowly. 

Jaskier stopped when he was all the way in, giving Geralt time to adjust. Geralt pulled him down close, kissing him as if his life depended on it. The whimper that left Jaskier’s mouth when Geralt’s teeth grazed his lower lip made the witcher shudder. 

When Jaskier started moving his hips, Geralt felt like the world had fallen down around him. Jaskier was slow, gentle, taking his time. Geralt was so used to people using him as a quick means to an end. But not now, not here in Jaskier’s arms. It was almost enough to send him over the edge right then and there. 

Jaskier whispered softly into his ear, telling him how beautiful he was, how good he felt around Jaskier’s cock. Geralt could only respond with Jaskier’s name, his mouth unable to form any other coherent words. 

Then Jaskier’s hips picked up their pace as he reached down to stroke Geralt’s cock with deft fingers. Every inch of his body felt like it was on fire. Geralt dug his own fingers into Jaskier’s back, trying not to hurt the bard too much. But Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. 

It wasn’t long before Geralt felt the familiar heat pooling in his belly. Then he was cumming, spilling over Jaskier’s fingers and onto his own stomach. His mind went blank with pleasure, and he was barely aware of Jaskier’s name tumbling from his lips. Jaskier wasn’t far behind him, his hips stuttering as he came. 

Jaskier collapsed on top of Geralt. They lay there for a long time, panting and sweaty. Eventually, Jaskier pulled out of Geralt, moving to stand. But then he paused, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Geralt. He swiped a finger across Geralt’s face, looking concerned. Geralt touched a hand to his cheek, surprised to find it come back wet with tears. 

Jaskier had opened his mouth to say something, but Geralt grabbed his hand and placed a kiss to his knuckles. Jaskier closed his mouth as Geralt smiled at him. He smiled back, then got up. He came back a minute later with a wet cloth, which he used to clean them both up. 

When Jaskier was done, he tossed the cloth to the floor and settled down in the bed beside Geralt. He placed his head on Geralt’s chest, close to his heart. Geralt closed his eyes, his fingertips slowly running up and down Jaskier’s back. Soon, he was pulled under sleep’s heavy cover. 

*****

The fact that Geralt got to wake up to Jaskier wearing the witcher’s tunic-- and only the tunic-- made him want to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. The black shirt was slipping off Jaskier’s shoulders, but he didn’t seem to mind as he sat at the windowsill, strumming a slow song on his lute. He grinned at Geralt as he got up from the bed. 

“ _You’re quite my tender starling_ ,” Jaskier sang as Geralt pulled his pants on. “ _So kiss me good morning, darling. It’s not up for debate, for this feeling just won’t abate_.” 

Geralt moved to Jaskier, placing a kiss on his forehead. The bard’s grin widened. 

“I’m glad you got the message,” Jaskier said, putting his lute back in its case. He paused for a moment before grabbing something from his pack and handing it to Geralt. 

Geralt stared at the notebook being offered to him. “I thought you didn’t want me to look at this.” 

Jaskier opened it to a page near the front of the notebook and shoved it into his hands anyway. “That was before we… you know. Now there’s no reason to hide what’s in here. I want you to read it. If you want to.” 

Geralt fingered the binding of the notebook. He finally looked down at the page, fingers running along the lines of Jaskier’s looping script. 

_Far and long, I am damned to follow_

_For my heart was wont to wallow_

_A flash of white, the sword alight_

_How close he is to that infernal wight_

_But glimpse the pale horizon yellow_

_And strike me as his lone bedfellow_

_To hold close but not impose_

_As I glimpse the pain grandiose_

Jaskier was watching him, waiting for any reaction. “I wrote that not all that long after we met. I saw the way you put everyone else before yourself, and even then it killed me to see how you didn’t value yourself.” 

Geralt read through the words again, wondering if he’d ever be able to put himself before others. He thought about last night, how Jaskier was so gentle and loving, and knew that at least now he had someone who put him first. Was it love, then, that he felt? He thought it must be so, if the idea of Jaskier leaving twisted in his gut like a knife. 

Geralt breathed in as Jaskier stood up, fingers tracing over his wounded arm as light as feathers. He spoke softly. “If you didn’t believe me before, please believe me now: I won’t leave your side, Geralt. I’ve cared for you since the first day we met, and I’ll continue to care for you as long as you’ll let me.” 

Geralt closed the notebook, leaning over to rest his forehead against Jaskier’s. “I believe you. And know that I’ll never leave your side, either.” Yes, it must be love he felt. 

Jaskier hummed. “So, what’s next?” 

“I hear Bremervoord is nice this time of year. A good amount of vodniks to hunt, and lots of wealthy people to sing to.” 

A smile flickered across Jaskier’s face, bright as a noonday sun. “I can get behind that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> (P.S. poems are a pain in the behind to write)
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kpkl10)   
> [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/unfolded_pages_/)
> 
> [My geraskier playlist on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4DZwPCA0K23SRDeZjwJ2jj?si=I3IVd6KWRpWrA9SfxD4MXg)


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